


Merlin and the nymphs

by halfhardtorock



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/F, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Orgy, dubcon, magical gangbang, merlin/f/f/f/f/f/f/f
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:11:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfhardtorock/pseuds/halfhardtorock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emrys is offered the pleasures of the wood nymphs, to do away with his chastity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merlin and the nymphs

 

 

The night before his coronation, Arthur has a mental breakdown.

Face pale and sheeny with nervous sweat, he starts saying over and over "I'm supposed to be anointed with oils! With oils! Who is going to anoint me with oils!"

It's some kind of ritualistic thing for new Kings, so Merlin tries to soothe him, rubbing his back and saying "I can do it, if you want?"

Arthur throws his hand off and stands about, tugging at his hair, eyes wild, in a fit.

"I need. Oh _gods_ , I need a shave! Oh _gods_!"

Merlin laughs then, eyebrow raised.

It takes Arthur a few moments to come out of his utter terror to glower at him.

"That's better," Merlin says softly, and then "You're the king now, aye? You don't have to worry about...oils and shaving and all that nonsense."

Arthur frowns, arms crossed over his chest, but he's listening.

"Grow a beard! Do as you like!" Merlin jokes, throwing his hands up. "Wear your clothes backwards! No one will say a thing, cause you're the king."

Arthur snorts, but then says "I'm not growing a beard, Merlin. I'll look like an idiot."

"I'll grow a beard if you grow a beard," he pledges.

Arthur looks at him with suspicion. Merlin is just about to go grab Arthur's shaver and the mallow root, when Arthur says "Fine, but I'll still need to be anointed. I know my father threw out most of the clerics years ago, but find someone, _please_ , who can do the job properly?"

Merlin swallows, nods.

He's about to leave when he checks once more "So, we're growing beards, right?"

Arthur, sitting in his chair, finally at peace, rolls his eyes. "Yes, Merlin. _Go_."

 

 

With Uther's passing, the magic slowly comes back to Albion the way spring shoots come out of the grey, quiet earth, sudden and plentiful. Arthur has not made an official decree to undo his father's ban, yet the air seems suddenly richer with the possibility, like some enchantment has touched on everybody and everything, pinking up faces, softening the air, sweetening the water.

Arthur, with his stupid beard, grows hearty and, if it is at all possible, more beautiful, eyes bright, shoulders loose with his happiness. Suddenly, overnight, he's a man, and not just a _young_ one, and he's _quieter_ , kinder, more relaxed.

"Eat with me," he says to Merlin one night, after Merlin's fetched his dinner. He toes out a chair beside him and watches Merlin raptly, chewing slowly.

They sit together, elbows nudging when they cut their mutton. Arthur grins at him, drinks his wine in two, deep pulls and then makes a pleased sound, wipes off his mouth on the back of his hand. His blonde beard is reddened with the wine.

"I enjoy your company like this, Merlin," he says fondly, "when your mouth is too full to prattle on nonsensically."

Merlin almost chokes on his food, then laughs at himself. Arthur's grin is enormous, unchecked.

"Arse-" slips out, helpless to his old ways. But Arthur just reaches out, shoves him lightly. Then goes back to eating.

Merlin watches him all the time now, learning this new Arthur, his _King_ and master.

 

 

They're not equals, but their friendship is unhidden, faithful. Everyone knows that Arthur favors him with his company, pointedly, and they make room for it. Even Sir Leon is unfazed when Merlin joins them at the table to pore over maps of Albion, to discuss border disputes, to go over local reports and decrees.

"Ugh, fetch us something to whet our appetites, will you, Merlin?" Arthur asks, giving Merlin's hand a light pat, distractedly. Sir Leon offers Merlin a smile and Merlin loves this best, because the rest of the castle _adores_ Arthur, _adores him_ , and going to the kitchens is liable to get Merlin the pampering of a lifetime.

"Merlin!" the cook coos, and all the other ladies surround him with their flour-softened hands and he gets hugged to a few motherly bosoms before they load him up with tartlets and cold roast quails (the size of his fist) and dried plums stuffed with little fruit jellies and rolled in sugar.

"How is my King today?" Cook asks, and Merlin thinks he might be jealous to hear such things if he didn't feel such a wave of pride for Arthur at the words. It makes him almost weak-kneed, and he knows that it's an odd thing maybe, to feel this way, but watching his destiny unfold so _beautifully_ makes him nearly incandescent with happy anticipation.

"Thanks for all this. Arthur's going to be the fattest king Camelot's ever seen!" he teases, and they laugh, shoo him away.

When he gets back, Arthur raises a brow and then laughs as Merlin keeps unloading his pockets with more and more. And more.

 

 

They're riding in the forest together, pretending to hunt but just needing the time away, the quiet, a day trip under the turning leaves. Arthur is looking at him, saying something about Merlin's _scraggly country bumpkin beard_ , and before Merlin can retort with a _at least mine doesn't make me look like my balls have just dropped_ , there is a...a man. A man with furry legs. A _Satyr_ there, leaning against a tree, watching them.

Arthur pauses, but Merlin's horse keeps walking like there's nothing wrong. Merlin shoots Arthur a look of distress, so Arthur has to reach at the last moment, grab the side of the reins and yank to keep Merlin close.

"Emrys," the Satyr says, voice like warm air breathed over his nape. Merlin shivers, shoots a nervous look at Arthur.

Arthur is turning to look back at him, unhappy.

"Uh, w-who?" Merlin asks and Arthur moves his horse in front of him. "What do you want with him?" Arthur asks, commanding.

The Satyr grins, licks his lip. "It's not what I want-" he says and turns.

Out of the wood drift three ladies in gauzy dresses that seem to blend with the air, loose and billowing. They all have golden eyes, and they waver in the shadows, hands pressed to a tree, looking demure, eyes downcast.

Merlin swallows.

"The Nymphs," The Satyr says, gesturing, "would like to give Emrys his pleasure."

There's a sound of a bird gamboling in the oak overhead. And then Arthur says " _What_?"

The Satyr chuckles and the Nymphs shared giggle is like water dancing over rocks, all playful and babbling.

Merlin feels like his whole body is blushing, a hot coal burning.

"They want to...?" Arthur starts to say, but then he just drifts off into silence, staring at the Nymphs, eyes wide.

The Satyr's grin is _wicked_. "The Nymphs would like to bestow on Emrys the most exquisite of delights. Ah, for the price of his virtue, of course."

"Oh gods-" Merlin breathes.

When he looks back, Arthur is turned all the way around in his horse, staring at him.

"Ah, no thank you? No thanks! Erm, not today!" Merlin says to the Nymphs, blushing harder when they turn their golden eyes on him. One smiles and Merlin jerks his reins back from Arthur's listless hand and canters away, back up the trail.

He feels the pull deep in his belly, the ache. It's not an enchantment, but he knows that meeting creatures of magic can...make an impression on you. By the time he gets back to the castle, he's a wreck, breathing hard, sweating. Insides all coiled tight and frustrated.

He hadn't waited for Arthur, but at the gates, he turns to see that Arthur's been following behind him slowly, frowning. Thinking.

"I...I'll just. I should get your horse stabled-" Merlin stammers, sliding down from his own horse.

Arthur climbs down too, staring at Merlin hard.

After a moment, he passes his reins into Merlin's offered hand.

Merlin wickers softly to the horses, brings them away.

 

 

"Emrys," Arthur says, when Merlin sets his food down. It startles Merlin so, makes him send the marmalade pot teetering. He grasps it, shoots a look at Arthur.

Arthur is looking at him, thinking, a finger to his mouth.

"It...they c-call me that, I don't know why-"

"Who calls you that?" Arthur asks.

Merlin swallows. "Beasts of magic. Sometimes...sorcerers," he sits down, hands to the table top, eyes cast aside. Worried.

"Why do they call you that, Merlin?" Arthur asks.

It's time. Probably...probably Merlin should have ages ago. Definitely after the coronation. But here it is, now. Right now. And Merlin's anxiety is so acute, he feels a little faint.

"Probably because...of m-my magic," he whispers.

He has to cover his hands over his face after, eyes screwed shut. Waiting.

It's silent and then Arthur sighs and when Merlin looks at him, Arthur is covering his own face with a hand, his eyes.

His other hand is curled into a sharp fist.

"Arthur-" he says.

"Go, leave me," Arthur says.

It swells over him, a rush of disappointment and unshed tears that heat his throat, make him swallow, stammer.

"Yes, sire-" Merlin says and when he leaves, closes the door behind him, he hears the shattering sound of something breaking on the wall within.

 

 

Arthur doesn't give him the silent treatment like he used to when they argued as youths. Instead, he's...gentle. He speaks kindly to Merlin, says things like "Can you pass me my shirt, please?" and "Thank you for dinner."

Things that make Merlin want to run through the castle screaming.

But he just keeps his head low, nods, listens, does Arthur's bidding.

 

 

Arthur isn't completely confident about his courtly duties as King yet, when lords and ladies visit. So Merlin tries to be quiet in the empty hall when Gwen takes time away from seeing to Morgana's dress to prep him.

She walks him through his greetings, his motions, listening as he tries them out, as he pauses, says "Damn-" and tries again. She's patient and never laughs, or only laughs when Arthur does first, and Merlin can tell her smile cheers him, when Arthur is unhappy with himself.

"Sir Horace, you and your daughter..." Arthur begins again.

"-Lady Rosalyn," she prompts.

"-Lady Rosalyn," Arthur amends, "are most welcome. Here. For-for-"

And then he palms his forehead and says "blast."

Gwen smiles a little, adds "Perhaps...you can check your words, when the lady is present."

"Yes, of course," Arthur says and then winces. "I beg your pardon, Guinevere-"

"-no, Sire, it. It is not a problem-" she hastens to allay, but the damage is done and it's obvious Arthur feels his impropriety keenly.

"Please, you must go back to Morgana. I am sure she is in more need of your services than I. I am fine," he says and Gwen throws Merlin a worried look.

Merlin gives her a smile of commiseration as she curtsies and leaves.

"Come, Merlin," Arthur says brusquely, almost formally, though there is no one else in the room but them.

Merlin cleans off his hands from where he's been stringing laurel branches, goes to his king.

Arthur looks uncomfortable, and then he waves vaguely at Merlin and says "You. Be Lady Rosalyn."

Merlin stares at him. "What?"

Arthur's eyes snap up, angry, and he says "Just...do as I say!"

Merlin looks down at the floor, holds his hands before himself, obedient.

Arthur clears his throat. "Lady...Rosalyn. I welcome you to Camelot. To m-my court. Wait, wait. I mean, it is a _pleasure_ to welcome you to my court. In Camelot. Today."

When Merlin dares to look, Arthur has both his hands over his face.

He moves them quickly though, and Merlin looks down again.

Arthur steels himself, tries "Lady Rosalyn. I...I hope you are well."

"Yes, Sire-" Merlin says, interrupting, and when he glances up, Arthur is giving him a look of irritation. "What?! I thought you wanted me to be her!"

"Just be _quiet_!" Arthur roars and Merlin has _had it_.

"Look, you want me to do this, and then you don't want me to do that, so what do you want?!-"

"-can't you just _do as you're told_? Do you always have to be so damn _infuriating_ and _insubordinate_?" Arthur snarls.

Merlin stomps away then. If he doesn't, he's going to commit some kind of treason.

"Where do you think you're _going_?!" Arthur yells.

"I have these... _stupid_ laurel branches to hang!" Merlin yells back.

"Why don't you just _magic_ them up then! Why don't you just-" and he waggles his fingers in the air, eyes wide and doofy, like it's what Merlin looks like when he uses magic.

So Merlin tosses the lot of branches on the floor, takes a deep breath and pulls the magic deep from his belly and _screams_.

The laurel branches zip around the hall into place.

When he's done, he's breathing harshly, shaking. He puts his hands down slowly, looks at Arthur.

Arthur's expression is _terrible_.

So Merlin runs. Farther than he has to, especially when he looks back and Arthur's not following.

 

 

Lady Rosalyn is _not_ much of a lady, at least not in behavior. She seems a bit taken with Camelot right away, leveling a hungry look at the hall, the costly tapestries, but it becomes abundantly clear, as the day progresses, that she's vying for a little more than Camelot's hospitality.

"Stupid woman," Morgana says angrily, leaving dinner early to escape the Lady Rosalyn's off-handed insults, the clever way a woman turns a man's attentions from another onto herself. Merlin watches her go, disappointed, and then lingers with a wine jug, uncertain. He hasn't gone near Arthur for most of the night, and now he's left to serve him, alone, with Gwen taken away by her lady.

"Perhaps after dinner, Sire, you could show me this prized horse of yours?" Lady Rosalyn asks.

Merlin rolls his eyes, thinking _no, my Arthur would never fall for-_

But then Arthur says "I would be delighted," and Merlin stares at the back of his head for the rest of dinner, hoping Arthur feels it like a knuckle-dig to his stupid skull.

"Imbecilic prat," he says after he finally gets away from dinner service to run to his room for his jacket.

It's been a half-hour, and he hopes he's not too late. He doesn't even devise a plan, just runs the length of the castle, then across the courtyard towards the stables.

When he gets there, he's right, of course. _Stupid King of Prats_.

Rosalyn is _sucking Arthur's earlobe_ , and her hand is between Arthur's knees, moving. They're sitting together on a haystack and Arthur looks like he's feeling a _mortal terror_.

For a second, just...a second, Merlin thinks he might just leave him to it. But then he bursts in, kicking a bucket to make a lot more noise than necessary, hands in his hair.

"SIRE! SIIIIRE!" he is calling, though they are right there.

He sees Arthur jump up and Lady Rosalyn frown, so he stops shouting, looks at them like he's just located them, caught up in the confusion of his own distress.

"Come quick! There is a problem with..."

And then he remembers he forgot to think of a plan.

Arthur's face is a comical mix of _oh thank the gods_ and _Oh you had better think fast-_ so Merlin says "-Sir Tristan! He has come down with an _illness_. A... _magical illness_! We may all be in mortal peril!"

Arthur stares at him.

"Auuuugh!" Merlin groans. "I feel...dizzy!"

Lady Rosalyn hops up and says "Excuse me!" and darts out of the stables.

When she's gone, Merlin takes his hands out of his hair.

"Great," Arthur snorts, exasperated. "did you have to scare the living daylights out of her!? She's the biggest gossip in Albion! We will never have another visitor before winter's end, EVER!"

"Like you care! You'd prefer if no one ever came to your court, so you wouldn't have to deal with all that...standing on ceremony stuff you hate. And she was _groping_ you!"

That distracts the king. "Dear Gods, the audacity of that woman-" Arthur says to himself, in disbelief.

"Yeah," Merlin chuckles. "Looked like she was about to have a pretty intimate understanding of your _courtly ways_ after all-"

"And what would you know about _that_ , Merlin?" Arthur ridicules sharply.

It's embarrassing to have it said. Merlin looks away, pained. "Yeah, right. Sorry-" he stutters and Arthur sighs and turns to him.

"Wait," Arthur struggles. He grabs Merlin's arm and holds him near. And then a shy, shaky grin spreads across his face and his eyes flick to Merlin, almost coy, and he says "Your _virtue_ , Merlin? Really?"

Merlin has to laugh once, shocked with how immensely _happy_ he feels, the way it seems to wash over him, along with his relief.

Arthur throws his head back and laughs too. "Gods, Merlin. _A virgin_. That's pretty pathetic, even for you."

Merlin flushes to his ears, feels it, how hot they get.

"Come on," Arthur claps his back. "lets go before she comes back."

"Yeah, what she was doing there...not covered in our practice run in the hall, huh?" Merlin teases.

Arthur snorts, chagrined. "No. Not at all."

They walk away from the stables quickly. At the stairs to the castle, they run a little. When Merlin looks at him, Arthur's grinning wildly.

 

 

The beautiful thing about Merlin's ruse is, Lady Rosalyn flees the next day, a fortnight early, to escape the "Magical Plague of Camelot" which earns Merlin a thump on the head from his master, which leaves him sore and grinning like an idiot.

That evening, he's happy to get Arthur to himself once more, hums merrily while he sets the table for them, while Arthur looks up from his desk, rolling his eyes.

Dinner is a roast piglet and roast apples and turnips and Merlin's whole mouth is coated with juice, his fingers too when he's done, so he sucks them off one by one, sighing.

Arthur watches him, little smile on his face. When Merlin's finished suckling, Arthur says "So, I've been thinking-"

"-oh great," Merlin teases and Arthur kicks him under the table.

And then they get into a kick match. And then they get into a kick match with _rules_ "-no knees and no digging toes in, _ow_. Your toes are like fingers, Merlin. Stop pinching! Stop!" and it's not until much later, when the dishes are cleared away and they're sitting together by the fire, Merlin on the floor, leaning close to it, that Arthur says "Oh yeah, I was thinking we should go back to the forest."

Merlin looks at him, surprised. "What, why?"

Arthur's expression is all amusement, and he shrugs lightly, but says "-we should go back to the forest and take care of that little problem of yours."

It takes Merlin a bit to understand, and then he hangs his head over his knees, into the folds of his arms. "Noooooooooo-" he moans.

"There were _Wood Nymphs_ begging to _divest_ you of your celibacy, and you say 'noooooooo-'? You're such a big girl's blouse sometimes."

"Arthur-" Merlin pleads.

"Nope, I won't hear it. There is no reason you shouldn't _partake_ in earthly pleasures like anyone. And they were _asking_ for you. Gods, Merlin. Those Nymphs were _asking_ for _you_ -"

"I, what if they changed their mind? What if it was a one-time offer?" Merlin argues but Arthur isn't having it.

"That's settled then! Tomorrow, we ride out for the forest!" he gets up and stretches, smiling down at his manservant. "Get some sleep now. You're going to need your strength."

Merlin gapes at him. And then gets up quickly and leaves.

"And don't try hiding from me! I know all your little hidey-holes!"

Merlin slams the door behind him.

 

 

They ride out just before noon.

"Stop _sulking_. Gods, you'd think I was making you muck out the stalls in the stable-"

"-I'd _gladly_ muck out stalls instead of this!" Merlin says and Arthur rolls his eyes.

"You're really unlike anyone I've ever known. You were offered carnal delights from three beautiful Nymphs, and you look like you want to cry! What on earth is your problem?"

Merlin scowls, looks away, lets his horse follow Arthur's.

Arthur gives an exasperated sigh. "Even knowing about the magic, you are still a mystery to me, Merlin."

 

 

"Huh, they're not coming-" Merlin says but then the Satyr appears, smiling. Merlin groans.

Arthur flashes him a bright smile and then turns to the Satyr. "My friend here would...like to take you up on your offer."

Merlin scrubs his hand through his beard, unhappy.

"Of course," the Satyr says, turning. And the Nymphs come, slowly moving from a part in the trees. They beckon to Merlin, endlessly, and Merlin feels his hands begin to shake.

"Come, now," Arthur says to him, and when Merlin looks, Arthur is off his horse, standing beside him, reaching up to help him down.

Merlin dismounts, stumbles, knees weak. And Arthur hefts him up under his arms, says "-take it slow-" and helps him walk until Merlin is good on his feet.

The Satyr sighs, moves for Merlin to pass but then stops Arthur.

"You are not invited-" he says.

When Merlin looks back at him, Arthur is outraged. But when he sees Merlin watching, he clears his face and says "It's all right. I'll wait here."

The Nymphs are like warm air at his back, Merlin can feel them. His hair rises on the nape of his neck, makes him shiver.

"But I want you to come-" Merlin says, plaintive. He sees the way Arthur swallows, shakes his head a little.

"Merlin-"

"No, no wait. You have to come!" Merlin starts getting frantic. "Arthur, don't-"

So Arthur steps easily past the Satyr, takes Merlin's hand. "Ok ok. I'll come."

Merlin's shoulders rise and fall quickly with his worried breath, and he closes his eyes to calm himself. "Oh."

" _Idiot_ ," Arthur whispers and they're still holding hands as Merlin turns to the Nymphs.

"Come, Emrys, King Arthur of Camelot-" the Nymphs speak as one, like song. Merlin's hand spasms in Arthur's.

"-lie with us."

 

 

It's a daze of soft skin, silky hair and lush, green grass beneath his back.

They unravel his neckerchief, and then three, warm mouths suck at his throat and he's dropped into the grass, hand's flailing.

One Nymph, breasts bare and warm to his chest, breathes into his ear "We want the proof of your pleasure, and will bring you off many times, Emrys. Many more than you may be ready for. But let me help you now. You are much too ripe to wait any longer."

And then she's slipping her smooth hand into his trousers to catch his cock.

"Ah-" Merlin bites his lip, arches.

Her hand so easily, so _willingly_ brings him off, he only shudders out two, shocked breaths and he's finishing, warm spurt that she has just begun unlacing his trousers for, so he releases a white arc into the air.

He twitches after, flushed, mouth loose for his breath. And when he looks at Arthur, Arthur is staring at him, sitting dazed with his back to a tree, knees up.

"A-arthur?" Merlin says weakly, watches Arthur's head tip back, eyes closed.

And then the Nymphs are rolling Merlin over, laughing in their delight, pulling his clothes off all the way until he lies naked in the grass, knees and elbows reddened, cock coming awake again on his bare thighs.

A Nymph takes his mouth, makes him cry out in surprise at the way her tongue plays with his, teases him until he's sweating with prickly heat.

When she finally frees him, he takes a scared breath, lets it out on another " _Arthur!_ "

The Nymph climbs astride him, loose hair dripping over his chest as she sinks on his swollen cock, diffuse warmth swirling around him, then _clenching_ on his sex.

He spills again. And then again when another rolls him over her, curls her lovely thighs around his lower back, locking him to her. Then again, when two tongues lash at his cock, suck his sack into wet heat. And again, when the Nymphs can't control themselves anymore, and just tag his hands down, his hips, and ride his cock again, his crooked _fingers_ , all of the shaking together, moaning in unison.

After, he has to use his magic to part them, get free of them, and once the magic rises over him, he knows it's dangerous.

He is a thing of magic too, after all.

-"It's you, it's _you_ , oh gods-" Merlin gasps, throwing the Nymphs off and tumbling Arthur onto his back.

Arthur goes, and the Nymphs's cool hands take Arthur's wrists, pin them to the soft grass like they pinned Merlin's. With Merlin, they take his leather britches in hand, pull them off until he's left half-naked, gasping, eyes screwed shut.

His cock is risen, dripping as it bounces against his stomach.

" _Arthur_ ," Merlin whines, nuzzles down to look at that heated flesh before he sighs, sucks it sloppily into his mouth.

" _Merlin_ ," Arthur cries out, and the Nymphs kiss Arthur's adam's apple, suck his fingers, lash his nipples with cool tongues.

Merlin gorges himself on Arthur's cock, frantic, selfish. He pulls off to let spit and precome drain from his mouth, half-sobbing "Arthur-" before he's glutting himself on cock once more, too hungry to hold back. Wanting, _wanting_.

When Arthur spills, Merlin moans at the gift of it, at the vulnerable flex captured between his lips, filling his throat with seed. His sound is a high, wet _Mmmmmmmnnn_ of pleasure, and he swallows impatiently, greedily, listening to Arthur's breathless, stuttered groans above him.

 

 

After, they're a tangle of hot limbs. Merlin climbs up and slumps to Arthur's chest.

Cool hands pet them, becalm their heated bodies. Merlin feels Arthur's hand join in lazily, rubbing the length of his long back, squeezing his ass.

The affection he feels for his Master is...helpless, breathless. He kisses under his jaw, nuzzles his soft beard making small noises of want, of pleasure.

Finally, the Nymphs take his elbow, yank him away and Merlin fights their pull, strains to get back to Arthur.

Arthur's _beautiful_ with lethargy, sprawled, all long, pliable legs and arms, one hand spread low on his own stomach, scratching lightly at the trail of hair there.

Then he rises to sitting, his face full of leniency as he reaches to thumb Merlin's mouth.

"Gods," he whispers, and smiles when the Nymphs force Merlin down, onto his back, breasts and slick cunts rubbing at his arms, his hands, wanting.

Arthur climbs over him on his hands and knees, wets his lips and then goes down on him.

He makes his own, pleased sound as his mouth sinks on Merlin's cock.

Merlin just quivers, hips rolling, head turned away. He's kissed by the Nymphs, their hands in his hair, twisting his head back and forth to share his mouth like it's nectar.

When he comes, he snaps up, hears Arthur's surprised choke. But his spurt is caught in the warm harbor of Arthur's mouth, savored.

When he comes back, Arthur falls gracelessly into his chest. Merlin watches him allow the Nymphs to take his face in their hands, to kiss at his mouth, tongues curious, to steal Merlin's seed from the inner pocket of his cheek.

They make love all day, golden and trembly, the Nymphs soft hands guiding their bodies together.


End file.
